disintegration

 
 
 
 
So pretty the crescent moon
fading into dark.
Empty night
merges with memory
I can not face,
can not see.
Soul tired, beyond weary ache,
oppressed muscle, bones.
Beyond any place called home.
Not a child of misery,
no one to blame, none to brace.
Flight soft and free,
treetop to treetop,
laughing at clouds
in their droll
picture play.
It takes a toll, years in.
Naysayers denounce: “We reject
you, dear; not of the body.”
Inject powerful medications
to prove their point,
their divinity.
Blissfilled moments
carry me
upon some apocalyptic
journey.
Far short of any paradise, I surrender.
Soul tired, yearning for the Moon.
.
.
.

 

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